


Long Stretch Of Road

by mentallymrswinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Reader-Insert, imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 10:15:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10511718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mentallymrswinchester/pseuds/mentallymrswinchester
Summary: The reader and Dean go on a road trip.





	

**Author's Note:**

> yeeeeeeeet this is a favorite from my tumblr I hope you enjoy

“Where do you want to go?” he asked, and as he turned the key in the ignition a look of wonder and excitement passed over his eyes, like mist over a juniper forest. 

“Anywhere and everywhere,” you laughed, the childish gleam in his eyes contagious. “Let’s just see where the road takes us.”

It was a terrible cliche, you knew it, but instead of saying anything about it Dean grinned at you sideways as he backed away from the bunker. 

This was the first time in awhile any of you had time off; a couple days ago Sam had looked up from a book about the Chimera and told you and Dean almost desperately that a break was in need. This road trip was a spur of the moment thing that started with you being shaken awake earlier than expected that day and coaxed into packing a bag. 

“This feels good,” Dean said, taking your hand as he picked up speed, shooting out of Lebanon, and you smiled, squeezing his fingers in response.

“Sam was right about the needing a break thing,” you admitted, rolling down your window, feeling the familiar rush of wind stir your hair out of place.

“He’d really enjoy the satisfaction of knowing that, Y/N.”

The two of you drove for miles, singing loudly and off-key to the old rock songs that filtered through the worn speakers. It felt nice, just driving, no place to be or route to follow, tearing through the long stretch of highway you were on. 

Once or twice you had thought about getting him to agree to play your music, but listening to Metallica over and over wasn’t too bad when you thought about all of the open-mouthed smiles you had received and would continue to receive when it was playing. 

The Impala pulled into a parking lot eventually, after you had lost time brushing the pad of your thumb over Dean’s knuckles and stealing kisses from him when he probably should’ve been paying attention to the road. He stopped at a small restaurant with a souvenir shop connected to it a few miles into a town you’d forgotten the name of, and he lead the way to the door, hastily opening it for you in his excitement.

“This feels good,” Dean said after you ordered, handing the menus off to the waitress and scooping your hand into his again.

“You already said that,” you mused, the corner of your mouth turning upwards at his action.

“And I’m gonna keep saying it until it’s not true anymore,” he replied, standing slightly from his seat across from you to capture your lips with his, hands still locked together. 

You had to force yourself to pull away from his mouth, inviting as it was, with him smirking. 

The souvenir shop was merely full of all the things involved tourists would pick up, but you did get a kick out of finding wooden key chains with popular names emblazoned on the sides. 

“Dean, look! I found yours!” You held it up for him to observe, and he took it, interest piqued the slightest bit.

There were many hanging on the hook labeled ‘Dean’ but looking over to the one that was supposed to have ‘Derek’s on it you found a ‘Sam’ instead, and gasped.

“I found Sam’s, too!” you said, tugging on Dean’s shirt to get him to look. “It’s fate!”

“Someone moved it from the ‘Sam’ slot and put it in front of the ‘Derek’s,” Dean mumbled in mock irritation. “It’s not fate.”

“If this isn’t a sign then I don’t know what is,” you spoke, ignoring his comment. “I’m getting this for Sam. You should get yours.”

“We should try to find one for you, too,” Dean said, but you already wandered off to inspect the shot glasses with the name of the restaurant intricately written on them. 

***

Dean had let you sit in the driver’s seat on occasion; days when he was working on the Impala and he wanted company (or the kisses you so generously offered him); certain hunts where only him and his brother playing the roles of fake feds was enough and you were asked to watch the car. But you had never, ever, gotten to drive it.

Until your fateful road trip, when everything felt good. 

“You’re not a bad driver, Y/N,” Dean deducted, still stiff in the passenger seat even though his words sounded sincere enough.

“Thanks,” you replied, leisurely rolling through a nearly empty town, dusk approaching. “Maybe you’ll let me try driving her down a highway sometime on this trip, hmm?”

Dean laughed, shifting uncomfortably. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

The town was nice; small, not to far from the one that the restaurant/souvenir shop inhabited, but, like the other one, mostly catered to tourists.

“I’m starving,” Dean complained, and you rolled your eyes. 

“You sure? We stopped at that gas station like a half hour ago and-”

“And I would’ve been fine if I had remembered how little time Slim Jim’s last you in the way of hunger if you only get one, but I didn’t,” he interrupted, gaze landing on a patio with lights strung across the overhead, tables full of people eating, talking laughing. “So, let’s go there.”

It isn’t the most casual place in the world, but you and Dean both laugh through your awkwardness, and decide to skip dessert and admire the pretty lights decorating the building instead.

“There should be more places like that in Lebanon,” Dean said, fingers laced with yours as you finally retreat from the scene and walk along the sidewalk. “But with burgers instead of whatever weird crap that was.”

“Lebanon has less than 300 people living in it, Dean,” you spoke, instigating the slight swing of your arms as you strolled. “It wouldn’t make sense for a place like that to be there.”

“It would still be nice. With good food and atmosphere you could have plenty of regulars.”

“So when are you planning on taking up the job of opening a restaurant?” you asked jokingly.

“Wouldn’t even think about starting anything without you, Y/N,” he replied, and the sincerity of his voice made you stop for a second. 

The setting sun washed over the planes of his face, the slope of his nose, made him look ethereal, too much perfection in a world where monsters existed. But he looked like that often when you gazed at him. So, in the long run, he looked like… yours. 

You tugged on his jacket, pulling his mouth down over yours, and you felt the familiar swell of admiration in your chest, the one you’d always felt with Dean. His lips moved with yours, slowly, softly, and you reveled in this moment with him, knowing that it would become a memory not even the hunting life could shatter. 

“This feels good,” you muttered against him, drunk on his touch, and he chuckled. 

“Like a breath of fresh air,” he responded, and took your hand in his. “C’mon, it’s getting dark.”

He led you back to the Impala, where you’d eventually make your way out of the town, back onto the highway, where you’d start all over again, making new memories down a long stretch of road.


End file.
